


The Misconceptions of Harry Potter

by AwkwardlyDespicable



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Abandoned Work - Unfinished and Discontinued, Apathetic Harry, Bottom Harry, Condescending Harry, Genius Harry, M/M, Manipulative Harry, Metamorphmagus Harry Potter, References to Abuse, Sadistic Harry, Top Voldemort, slight crack
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-22
Updated: 2017-01-05
Packaged: 2018-09-01 12:16:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,388
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8624140
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AwkwardlyDespicable/pseuds/AwkwardlyDespicable
Summary: Harry wasn't the foolish, brave, hard-headed Gryffindor that everyone assumed he was. No, he was much more than that. Harry found it amusing to play with the people around him, let them build misconceptions and assume they knew him. When he lets himself get captured by Voldemort (because 'what the hell'), he shows Voldemort and his Death Eaters that Harry Potter doesn't exist, but Hadrian Potter does.Story is DISCONTINUED.





	1. Chapter 1

Harry thoughtfully traced his finger over the deep cut that ran down the length of his bicep. He could see the way the knife had sliced cleanly through flesh and muscle just as he could see the continuous flow of deep crimson blood trickling out of the wound. However, he couldn't _feel_ it.

He decided that PK-12 was a success. 

He absentmindedly tapped his wand on the wound, not bothering to watch as his flesh rapidly knit back together, instead waving his wand causing the massive amounts of blood that had coated his arm to disappear. He then reached out and opened a small black leather box. 

The box was roughly the size of a necklace box but was marginally longer and wider. The corners of the box were capped in silver casing, and the initials H.J.P were engraved in flowing silver script in the middle of the case. Around the initials, there were small engraved runes that were barely visible. These were preservation runes, advanced notice-me-not runes and many other complex runes interweaved together to form an impenetrable box.

Inside the box, nestled in the black velvet lining, was rows upon rows of small vials, holding a wide array of coloured liquids. Due to how the vials were placed, around forty could fit in the case. 

Harry took out a vial, uncorked it and swallowed it as quickly as possible. He grimaced. He had never liked the taste of the blood replenishing potion.

He closed the potions case and instead picked up a small black leather journal. It had a similar design to the potions case, with silver casing on the corner, his initials in the middle and the barely visible runes. The pages of the journal were made of thick parchment like paper and were seemingly empty.

Harry touched his wand to the first page and black elegant script spread out across the page. The book read his magical signature, which only he could produce and allowed his to see the contents of the journal. The first page was a contents page and he touched the line that said 'Potions Journal'. The next page started to fill up, listing all of the potions he had edited and created. He tapped on the line that read 'Pain Killer'.

Pages upon pages started to fill up, some in neat writing and others in messy scrawl. He flipped to the next blank page and started writing in elegant flowing handwriting.

_Test number 12 of PK is an apparent success. The potion successfully blocks all pain receptors, and instead provides a sort of pressure to indicate if you have been injured. There are no obvious side effects and the potion should wear off in 1 hour...._

He continued writing. Finally finished with his entry, he flipped back to the contents page, tapped the line that read 'Inventions' and opened to a new page. He then started to write a detailed description of the potion and what it did. Continuing on from this, he then listed the ingredients and exact measurements as well as a painstakingly detailed method on precisely how to make the potion.

He liked to be thorough.

By the time he was finished, the sun had already started to set and considering that he started writing at around mid-day, well, it had taken him a long time. He packed away his journal and potions case into his black leather satchel and the proceeded to head downstairs to the kitchen.

It was time to make dinner. Oh joy.

He brushed past Petunia as she made her way upstairs, not perturbed by her disgusted glance in the slightest. He had let go of such silly feelings long ago. He didn't actually feel much of anything anymore to be honest. He didn't mind though, he never particularly liked feeling emotions, they were so fickle.

When he arrived in the kitchen, he started cooking right away not needing to think about his actions, it having been ingrained into him since he was a child. Instead, his mind wandered.

He was two months into his holidays and he was about to go into his fifth year at Hogwarts soon. His holidays had been slightly productive, he had started sketching out some new ideas for new potions and spells and had even finished a few. He had read ahead in many of his subjects and some. Of course, he didn't bother going into divination since it wasn't a skill you could learn, it was something you were born with, and he was _not_ born with it.

He found divination to be an annoyance. A necessary annoyance, but an annoyance all the same. He would have preferred to take ancient runes or arithmancy instead (not that he couldn't learn on his own), but he knew that he was expected to laze about and have fun instead of focusing on studying. 

He liked to humour them.

His 'Boy-Who-Lived' charade was probably his favourite to date. Not to say he didn't have others that amused him, but this one was his favourite to act out. He has had many different 'faces', as he liked to call them, over the years. His first formed when Vernon expected him to be quiet and obedient as he beat him. He assumed a submissive behaviour and started acting like the perfect little boy. Even though he wanted nothing more than make Vernon hurt like he himself was hurting. 

It had continued on from there, with more and more faces being created. Many would assume that these facades were just shields for him to hide behind, using them to bury any negative emotions. These people would be wrong.

He had realised early on that everyone had expectations of him, how he would look, how he would act and how he would behave. He found it amusing. The glint of satisfaction in their eyes, the slight way they squared their shoulders and the upwards tilt of the chin, all displaying the arrogance they felt when they assumed that they were right. Of course, they weren’t, but he wasn’t going to tell them that.

He preferred to let it grow. He liked to let their arrogance build and build as they grew to ‘know’ him, as they grew to expect certain behaviours of him. He never let them see him without the masks, never let them see the boy who could do controlled wandless magic years before even knowing of witches and wizards, never let them see the boy who would prefer to stay away from any social interactions, never let them see the boy who was smart enough to remove the trace on his wand by his second year at Hogwarts, never let them see the boy who simply did not give a shit about any of them or their lives.  

So yes, Harry liked to pretend. But really, he couldn’t find any problem with that, the way he lived his life wasn’t relevant to them, no matter how much they claimed otherwise. Just as their lives weren’t relevant to him. After all, all they could ever do was manage to get in his way.

\-------------------- 

The next day, Harry was bored. So far during the holiday he had been working on his potion, but since he had finished it the previous day, he had been spending his time counting the cracks in the ceiling. Something that was irrelevant and pointless since he still remembered how many there were from the last time he had counted them when he was twelve. There were 42 cracks, and sadly, it didn’t change however many times he counted it.

Harry sighed and stood up from his bed in his tiny room. Maybe he should go wreak some havoc today. That might keep him entertained, at least for a while. But what kind of havoc could he wreak? Should he mess with the wizarding or the muggle world?

The wizarding world did always provide him with that extra bit of challenge and he supposed that he needed a challenge to properly stimulate himself today.

Wizarding world it was.

He apparated to the entrance to Diagon Alley. Thankfully, no one was there to see The Harry Potter use an illegal travelling method for anyone underage. He then proceeded to alter his appearance, a capability nobody thought Harry Potter had the ability to do.

Harry was, surprisingly, a metamorphmagus. Although it made sense really. After checking the Potter family tree, he realised that his grandmother, Dorea, was actually a Black. Dorea was one of three children, having two brothers. One being Orion Black, Sirius’s father, and the other being Cygnus Black, the father of Andromeda Tonks, Bellatrix Lestrange and Narcissa Malfoy. After reading through the Black journals, written by Blacks from hundreds of years ago, he had realised that every Black used to possess the ability to metamorph. However, as time went on many Blacks started breeding with cousins and second cousins and the metamorphmagus ability slowly started fade. Nymphadora Tonks, the daughter of Andromeda Tonks, was the first Black with the Metamorphmagus ability to be born in hundreds of years. Harry was the second and what they both had in common was the fact that one of their parents was a muggleborn. He theorised that with new blood being bought into the bloodline, it was able to renew the power enough that it was accessible to both them.

Granted, Harry’s capabilities had a much larger range. While Nymphadora could change a few bodily structures, she couldn’t alter her appearance into something completely different to her original form, such as turning into Hagrid. Harry could.

Harry felt his body shift slightly back into his original form. His original form had only a few differences from his ‘Harry Potter’ appearance, however these slight differences made him look like a completely different person. His hair grew to a bit below shoulder length, taking on a slight wave, with the front framing his face. His skin paled slightly and any blemishes, such as freckles, disappeared. His lips filled out and turned a darker shade of red and his face lost all of its baby fat becoming more chiselled. His height stayed the same, at around 168cm (5’6”), however, instead of the emaciated form he previously had, it filled out becoming lithe and toned, while still appearing delicate and fragile.

He took off his glasses to reveal his vivid Avada Kedavra coloured eyes, framed in long dark lashes, casting a sinister shadow over his face. When he became more advanced in his metamorphmagus abilities, he was able to alter his eyes so that he had perfect vision. However, this was already after he had entered the wizarding world and knew that 'Harry Potter' wore glasses. So he wore glasses, albeit fake ones.

Of course, he never told anyone about this, because the Saviour was an exact replica of his father, besides his eyes which he got from his mother, and his father _was_ widely known for his dorky glasses.

Overall, Harry was now the embodiment of an aristocratic pureblood.

He flicked his wand silently and the disillusionment over his clothes disappeared to show finely tailored wizarding robes, which framed his small figure. They were black, lined with silver. They had a high collar which met to form the upper part of the robes which were attached until the waist and hugged his torso. Below the waist was a black belt, which then led to the robes parting to show his tight black pants and black dragon hide boots. The back of his robes ended longer than the front. Underneath his robes hid a black satchel holding the things he made sure to always have with him, such as his potions case and his journal.

Satisfied with his appearance, he took out his wand and tapped on various bricks in sequence.

The doorway was opened, ready for him to create chaos.   

___________________________

Here's a link to my poorly described wizarding robes, all credits go to the awesome artist of the piece.

(See the first set of robes in the drawing)

<http://kiraradesign.deviantart.com/art/Wizard-robes-405973092>

Also, I know that Harry's grandparents are different than what I said, but just for the sake of my story plot line, I am going to keep it the way I have written it.

The original plot line and characters mentioned in this story are property of the author of the Harry Potter series, J.K Rowling.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry creates chaos.

Harry casually sat outside of Florean Fortescue's Ice-Cream Parlour licking a triple chocolate ice-cream, as he watched the bustle of people pass by.

After entering the alley, determined to create chaos, he had hit a bit of a wall when he realised that he didn't actually know how he should create said chaos. He had to admit that he didn't really have a plan in mind when he had left, he was just really bored, and leaving that stuffy house seemed like the best way to sate that boredom, and if he had the opportunity to mess with people too, well he wasn't going to pass that up.

So here he was, bored again. Granted, he did have an ice-cream now, so it wasn't too bad.

He watched as a young boy ran out of the doorway to the ice-cream shop holding a small cup of ice-cream and a plastic spoon. The boy dodged and weaved through the large crowd, darting in seemingly random directions to avoid knocking into people and causing his ice-cream to fall. Eventually he reached to other side of the path where he met up with a rather large woman and started gushing happily at her.

Harry tilted his head in thought, being careful not to let his scar show from behind his hair. _Spoons_ , he thought, _I quite like spoons today._ He stared down at his pink plastic spoon, blinked, and wandlessly changed the colour of the spoon to black. He smiled in satisfaction and leaned back in his chair to continue his people watching.

He soon zoned out. People weren't all that interesting to him and he didn't care for watching them live out their pitiful existences. He instead started to think on how he could entertain himself.

If he really was going to mess shit up, the most productive way would be to fuck up both Dumbledore and The Order, _and_ Voldemort and his Death Eaters.

An idea came to him and a glint of anticipation showed in in eyes.

He stood up with the ease and grace of a person comfortable in their own bodies, and discarded his empty ice-cream cup and spoon in a nearby trash can. He then cast a faint notice-me-not charm over himself since people tended to stare at him. A lot.

He casually strode down the street, gracefully dodging and weaving through the people in his path. He passed numerous shops until he reached a courtyard where people were able to apparate into the shopping district, as opposed to apparating into the courtyard out the back of the leaky cauldron where he had entered. The area was kept relatively empty, with people leaving it as soon as they appeared there so they didn't run into anyone.

The courtyard was a large open space with various streets coming off of it, leading into many different alleys, the biggest being Diagon Alley. Harry ducked into a small street off of the courtyard that he knew led to a dead end. He cast strong wards, deterring anyone from even noticing the alley.

Harry then started to work.

Magic was tangible in the air, simmering and filling every crevice of the small alley. Harry glowed with power as the magic around him caressed his body. His eyes shone brightly. If they had once been a star in the night sky, they were now the sun on a cloudless day.

Harry was on his knees, crouched over his creation. A motionless that figure was slowly forming from the head down as Harry chanted under his breath in Latin. Once the body was complete, it showed a man who was well built with a nondescript face.

Harry continued chanting.

Slowly the body stood up in a stock still position. The lack of breathing was noticeable but Harry was expecting it.

It wasn't alive.

Harry's chanting slowly tapered off until the alley was silent once again and the magic that had formerly been overwhelming, calmed.

Harry slowly stood up straight from his crouch on the ground and turned to face the naked motionless body. He slowly walked around the 'person', inspecting every inch of it until he came to a stop in front of the body again. The man stared at him with a passive expression, no emotions to be seen, which was to be expected since it didn't actually have emotions. Harry waved his wand and clothes appeared on the body.

Now for the real test.

"Duplicate" Harry said firmly. At first nothing happened, but gradually the body started stretching sideways, like it was made of rubber. It then split down the middle and the two different pieces of what had one been one person, reformed back into two identical copies of the original bodies.

Harry smiled in satisfaction, casting a cruel shadow over his face.

This had been an experiment of his own that he had done after his third year. He had wanted to modify the spell that would create a golem. Golems were limited. They could follow basic orders, but they were never able to complete any tasks as efficiently as a human would. Furthermore, they were never able to properly imitate a human, and they were never able to do magic. Harry's version of the golem could do that and so much more. When his golem was created, it formed a link between itself and its creator, this link served as a way for the creator to give constant commands to the golem. The golem was able to perfectly imitate a human, acting as if it had emotions and a mind of its own. It was able to shapeshift to change its appearances, which also gave it the ability to create duplicates of itself. The best part though.

It could do magic.

Since golems didn't have an actual magical core, it meant that they instead had to draw their magic from their creator. Obviously, this would take up a lot of energy, so most wizards would have trouble maintaining even one golem for an extended period of time, and that further depended on whether they could create one in the first place, since it was an immensely complicated spell. However, Harry was not most people, and he had never even used a quarter of his magical reserves. Even when using so many powerful spells that it would leave an average wizard as merely a squib, from severe magical exhaustion. So if was safe to say that Harry wasn't particularly worried.

Harry continued to create many more duplicates until he had around thirty golems in total.

The scene was set, with the civilians oblivious to the danger they were soon going to be put in and the golems garbed in Death Eater uniforms, ready to attack.

_____________________

Harry sat at a cafe located on a corner that connected the apparation courtyard and an alley composed of mainly restaurants. He took a seat that gave him the best view of the courtyard to watch the coming show.

Multiple loud cracks sounded from the courtyard. This wasn't an unusual occurrence, however the billowing dark cloaks and plain white masks covering thirty odd people, were. Panic ensued as curses were flown from the wands of the supposed Death Eaters. People ran screaming in random directions in an attempt to escape being hurt. Many conveniently forgetting that they were standing in a place where they could easily apparate away.

Harry shook his head, people these days.

Out of the corner of his eye, Harry notice a woman who had tripped over as she ran from one of the men in black. She flipped herself over so that she was facing upwards, and a look of pure terror overcame her face as she noticed the towering figure leaning over her.

Harry looked away disinterestedly, instead choosing to focus on his caramel milkshake, ignoring the piercing scream that came from the woman's direction. The milkshake _was_ quite delicious.

As Harry was on the last drop of his drink, more cracks sounded and people started appearing in the courtyard.

Oh! The aurors had arrived.

Harry pouted when he realised he had finished his milkshake. He sighed and slowly stood up and started strolling down Diagon Alley.

He absently noticed that his golems had now started raiding various shops. One came running out of the quidditch shop carrying handfuls of thistles that he had ripped off the ends of brooms. Another exited the apothecary, floating around ten cauldrons full of bugs eyes and frog legs, as another shot down aurors stopping them from interfering. He noted a third golem exiting the ice-cream parlour holding as many pink spoons as possible, but instead of leaving to go somewhere else, he sat at a table placing his spoons down too, and started turning them black.

Harry nodded in approval.

He continued his stroll down the street. Most of the civilians had managed to get get away and now the area was only occupied by his golems and aurors. _Oh wait_ , he thought, _is that Dumbledores order I see?_ Many order members had arrived, immediately throwing themselves into the fray. Harry shouldn't have known about The Order of the Phoenix, since he hadn't met them yet and Dumbledore hadn't thought it prudent to inform him of their existence, however, Harry knew lots of things he shouldn't know, so it wasn't entirely unexpected.

It wasn't just The Order that had appeared though. Real Death Eaters had also started appearing. They wore normal robes, since wearing their Death Eater robes would be counterproductive. They also wore glamours so nobody noticed people that had previously been acquitted for being Death Eaters showing up to a supposed Death Eater raid. At least _they_ had some brains in them.

While the order went straight to fighting, the Death Eaters seemed to hold back. Instead they seemed to be looking for something.

Or _someone_.

Harry was pleased by this, that they were trying to find the creator of the golems. Or the leader of the attack, since they didn't actually know that they were golems. Of course, they wouldn't find him if he didn't want to be found. But did he really want to remain hidden when he could have so much more fun out in the open? Besides, he had always wanted to get captured, he wanted to experience what being held in a dungeon was like. He had also always wanted his own dungeon, and what better dungeon to model his after than Voldemort's himself.

With his decision made, he ducked into an alley and released the charm placed over him, and then strode out into the open towards one of his golems. The golems stopped stuffing his pockets with candy and turned to face his creator. Harry ordered it, through the link, to bow lowly to him and then he started a rather one sided conversation with it about no particular topic.

Harry watched out of the corner of his eye and noticed that none of the aurors had taken notice of him, nor had any of The Order of The Phoenix. However, he did see two Death Eaters gesturing towards him.

He pretended he didn't sense the person sneaking up behind him.

As he was _stupefied_ he allowed the link to dissolve and his golems started to crumble, leaving not even a pile of dust where they once stood.

Then he allowed himself to lose consciousness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello,  
> If you liked this chapter feel free to review. I don't mind any criticism if you find any plot holes or mistakes.
> 
> All rights to the original plot line and characters go to J.K Rowling.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A meeting.

Voldemort was angry. He was absolutely furious. He needed someone to _crucio_ right about now, or else he was going to destroy his whole headquarters, which was something he _really_ didn't want to do. _Again_.

The attack on Diagon Alley by those _imposters_ could have easily destroyed all of his carefully laid plans. If he had not had some of his minions working in the ministry, ready to convince them that it was a false alarm by someone trying to inspire fear, not an actual Death Eater attack, he could have been exposed.

He could not allow the ministry to know of his continued existence before he had moved forward with a few of his plans. Not that those fools would actually stand a chance against _him_. But it was more convenient that they didn't know.

A tentative knock cut him out of his raging. "Enter." He demanded. The door opened slightly allowing a person to slip through. It was one of his lower ranking Death Eaters who was sent to deal with the imposters.

The Death Eater immediately approached him and dropped to the ground in a low bow, kissing the bottom of his robes and then backed up again, out of his immediate presence as was commanded.

"M-My Lord, we have managed to capture the p-person who attacked Diagon Alley, he is in the dungeon right now." He stuttered. Voldemort's eyes gleamed in satisfaction making the Death Eater whimper.

"Who is it?" Voldemort said harshly. He had thought that perhaps it was the Order trying to convince the wizarding world that he was back as they seemed so determined to do, but he knew that they didn't have the stomach to commit the atrocities the _imposters_ performed.

"M-My Lord, w-we have been u-unable to identify who the wizard is." He muttered trembling. A flick of his wand and a muttered _crucio_ and the Death Eater was writhing upon the ground, ripping his throat raw with his screams. Voldemort felt some of his anger unravel and let up on the curse.

"Leave me." He commanded to the panting Death Eater causing him to scramble out of the room as quickly as he could, after a low bow.

Voldemort strode out of the room, thundering down the corridors of Slytherin Manor, noting with triumph the way his Death Eaters scrambled out of his way and dropped to the floor grovelling as he passed them. He descended deeper into the bowels of the manor until he reached the dungeons.

He expanded his magic, searching for signs of life, to figure out which cell the prisoner was placed in, only to recoil when he was met with an immense force of unimaginably dark magic, tightly wound around a small figure, seductively calling for his magic to embrace it. He growled lowly and strode towards it.

When he came upon the cell he was surprised to find a small figure sitting on the ground instead of the bed, leaning casually against the back of the cell with his arms loped loosely around his bent knee. More surprising though, was that he was casually reading the Daily Prophet, as if he were  _not_ locked up in a cell with a high probability of torture.

The man, no _boy_ , looked up at him in curiosity and Voldemort had to refrain from allowing his breath to catch at his frankly _angelic_ appearance. A smooth velvety voice purred, "Have you read the emergency edition of the Daily Prophet? They had quite a quick response. I suppose that was your intention though, I guess you didn't want to let your existence be known before you were ready." Voldemort was able to catch the large bold headline of the newspaper which read, ' **ATTACK ON DIAGON ALLEY, IMPOSTERS INSPIRE FEAR INTO THE HEARTS OF ALL** ' and felt a slight sense of relief that he had not been exposed. He never knew whether he could _really_ count on his Death Eaters to do their jobs properly. He guessed he shouldn't have underestimated Lucius's influence and Fudges adamant denial of anything to do with his return.

Voldemort snarled, " _Where_ did you get that." He flicked his wrist and the cell door slammed open allowing him to stride in. The boy looked up from the paper where he had been reading an article on nifflers.

He raised an eyebrow, " _Someone_ seems to be a bit pissed." He said slightly condescendingly, "did I do something to you?" Voldemort growled and raised his hand, picking the boy up and slamming him against the wall with sheer will and magic, leaving him dangling with his feet a few centimetres above the ground, pinned by his arms. He stalked towards the child until he was a breaths distance away from him and their faces were almost touching.

The boys brilliant eyes were beautiful, almost causing him to lose focus. They shone brightly, displaying had an uncanny resemblance to the Avanda Kedavra curse. Up close, Voldemort could see every curve and plane of the boys face, and to his frustration, it looked as flawless up close as it did from far away. He refocused.

"Who are _you_ to be disrespecting me. I hold your life in my hand and you presume to think you are free to say as you wish." He whispered menacingly. He had expected the boy to be frightened or at least flinch, what at he had not expected was the complete deadpan look sent his way.

"I just figured that we had a nice record going. You attacking me and me disrespecting you, then you getting all high and mighty, ' _I am the Dark Lord_ ' and all of that nonsense, then I act like an impertinent brat and banish you until next time we meet when it starts all over again." The boy raised an eyebrow challengingly. Voldemort's mind was working furiously trying to understand. The boy tilted his head slightly, causing the hair covering his forehead to shift and Voldemort froze upon seeing the Lightning shaped scar displayed.

" _Potter_." He snarled, leaning even closer, so that their lips basically ghosted over each other's, grabbing his biceps tightly. "It seems my Death Eaters have brought me the wrong person, however I must say that this is much more... _appreciated_." His thin lips turned up slightly in a malicious smirk.

Harry Potter merely smiled lightly back at him, "Well, it's a pleasure to be here Tom." He said dismissively, "Its always nice to know your appreciated. However, you _have_ got something wrong." He sighed in disappointment. Voldemort suppressed a shiver at the ghosted touch of lips moving near his own, and tried to compose himself. However, the upward tilt of the others lips, showed that he had noticed.

"And that was?" He drawled, raising a hairless eyebrow.

Harry leaned closer, tilting his head to avoid their noses touching, his hooded eyes, flickering to Voldemort's thin lips. Voldemort's eyes in turn flickered towards the soft, blood red lips and then quickly back up to the enchanting green eyes. "Your Death Eaters _didn't_ capture the wrong person." Potter murmured.

Voldemort abruptly stepped back and incidentally, let Potter free of his magical restrains causing him to land daintily on his feet, not surprised in the slightest. Voldemort composed himself, reigning in the faint lust he had felt at being pressed so close to the lithe body. "What do you mean by, 'they didn't capture the wrong person', you cannot be saying that _you_ were the one to attack Diagon Alley," He snorted in disbelief, "Disregarding the fact that the _lights icon_ would never have the nerve to terrorise innocents, you _still_ wouldn't be able to amass such a large following, especially _right_ under Dumbledore's nose." He said incredulously and severely confused, although he would never show it.

Harry chuckled slightly and wandered over to the metal bed in the back corner of the dungeon, opposite to where they were standing, seemingly unconcerned with turning his back to the most dangerous Dark Lord in centuries. On the way he casually shrugged off his cloak and let it fall to the floor, where it disappeared before it could touch the ground. Leaving him wearing only a tight, form fitting black button up shirt and tight black pants with dragon hide boots. He sat down on the bed and lent against the wall, resting his chin on a knee. He stared at Voldemort, his unnervingly bright green eyes, sparkling with amusement.

"Ah, you seem to have the misconception that those were _real_ people." He said with realisation, "No, my dear Tom. Those were _golems_." Voldemort blinked.

"Those... _Beings_ were much too life-like to be _golems_." He growled and stalked forward, only to stop himself when remembering how the close proximity to Potter affected him. "Do not presume to lie to me, _Potter_." He said, spitting out his name.

"I guess they _are_ quite life-like, aren't they?" Potter said understandingly. The boy was the epitome of relaxed serenity, not perturbed in the least by the seething Dark Lord, not three feet away. "Nevertheless, they _are_ golems, just not your run of the mill, zombie impersonating, golems. No, I created these ones myself. I call them _golems 2.0_."

" _Golems 2.0_?" Voldemort asked, shocked and perturbed. Especially since Potter was actually insinuating that he could _create_ something as complicated as an advanced form of a golem.

Potter sighed, "Yes, I must admit, not the most creative of names. No matter how creative I am, once I get to the names of my creations, I lose all imagination." He sighed again and shook his head in disappointment.

Voldemort spluttered, "No, that's not what I-" he cut himself off and shook his head in frustration, suddenly though he realised something, "Those _'golems'_ we're using magic! Are you saying that you were able to give animated _objects_ the ability to use magic?" He said with utter disbelief.

"Ah, no." Harry said, shaking his head, "they merely channel my magic through a link connected from them to me."

"That is impossible." He snarled, "The sheer power it would take to control even one of those, should have drained your magical reserves." Voldemort was beginning to believe that this was all just a bizarre dream, however he dismissed that thought.

 _He didn't dream_.

"Yes, well, that is true." Potter admitted, "for the average person that is. But for a wizard of _my_ caliber, or even _your_ caliber, it is quite possible. Although it does leave you quite sleepy afterwards. Thankfully though, your Death Eaters knocked me out, and now I'm fully rested." He finished gleefully.

Voldemort had stopped listened when the boy compared his pathetic self to _him_ , Voldemort. He struggled to contain his anger. "Are you _insinuating_ that _you_ are on par with _me_?" Voldemort seethed furiously.

"Well actually, I was insinuating that I'm better than yo-"

"You impertinent brat." Voldemort lashed out, his magic pulsing dangerously, "you are naught but a school boy with a below average power level. We are not even close to being similar and you could _never_ be on par with me, let alone _better_." He spat. Before he could continue on with his tirade be was cut of by the sound of a low dangerous chuckle.

Harry stood gracefully from the bed and prowled towards the Dark Lord until he stood not a meter away. "We aren't?" He asked curiously, tilting his head. An oppressive, seductive force suddenly overwhelmed Voldemort, surrounding him, pressing in on all sides, caressing him. He involuntarily stumbled back. He belatedly realised this was the same magical aura he had felt when entering the dungeons and cursed himself for all but forgetting about it.

Potter followed after him and he found himself stumbling away until his back rammed into the cells wall. The boy continued forward until they were once again so close that he could see every inch of his face. Voldemort's breath got caught in his throat, still affected by the sheer power rolling of the boy in waves.

Harry's head tilted up and emerald green clashed violently with blood red. "I think," Potter breathed, "that we are _much_ more alike than you think, Tom." Voldemort could feel the warm breath against his lips. A hand came up to rest gently on his cheek and he almost shuddered at the mere contact. Potter smiled lightly.

"And that is why I think we would make an _excellent_ team." He purred. Voldemort's mind raced with the implications that this held and made his decision, his anger rapidly disappearing.

"I... I think I quite agree with you, Mr Potter." He was able to get out. The hand on his cheek trailed downwards, leaving fire in its wake, until it came to rest lightly on his jawbone. Harry Potter's blood red lips twisted into a parody of a smile.

" _Wonderful_." He breathed.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All rights to the original story and characters go to J.K Rowling.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The finer details.

After Voldemort had agreed to Harry's proposition, Harry was allowed out of his cell, as if he actually needed permission, a ridiculous though really, and was led to Voldemort's study where they could decide on the finer details of their alliance.

Apparently, they couldn't just shake hands and be done with it.

Voldemort's study was interesting. Not how he would have imagined it, really. He was expecting it to be dank, dark and smell like rotting corpses, perhaps with an air of insanity to it, as was fitting for a mad Dark Lord who got off on torturing people. However, it was actually a rather sophisticated room, with a fireplace crackling merrily on the back wall, an elaborate polished wooden desk on the opposite end of the room to the fireplace, bookshelves lining the walls, and two brown leather couches facing the fireplace with a little coffee table in reachable distance. The floor was even covered with black shagged carpet, which Harry had to commend Voldemort for, at least he knew how to live comfortably.

He figured that the dank, dark, rotten corpse smelling room was somewhere else.

Voldemort immediately headed for the high backed chair behind the desk and sat down with all the grace a Dark Lord of his calibre should possess. Harry headed for one of the armchairs and flicked his hand. In one fluid motion, the chair spun around and he flopped into it, throwing one leg over the armrest and resting his chin on his fist. He raised an eyebrow.

"So?" He asked. Voldemort's eyes adverted from where they had strayed to the parted legs, back to twinkling green eyes.

The Dark Lord cleared his throat, "So, we need to settle the details of our arrangement." He pulled out a quill and a bottle of ink. "I believe we should both make clear what we expect, as to not cause any confusion."

"Okay," Harry shrugged, "what are your ' _demands_ '?"

"Well first of all, as allies, I demand an oath from both of us, that prevents either of us harming each other or being involved in any incident that causes the other harm or death."

Harry smiled lazily and nodded, "I can agree with that." His smile widened. "However, I think we should make it so we are unable to harm each other in any ill meaning manner." A glint appeared in his eyes and his smile turned slightly feral. Voldemort gulped but nodded, understanding what he was implying, and wrote it down on the parchment.

He cleared his throat, "We should also be unable able to betray each other. Meaning that you can't go running back to the _light_ side."

Harry smiled wryly, "Darling, why would I do that?" He asked patronisingly, but nodded anyway. "That is agreeable. I however, will not be taking taking your mark, nor anything of equal ridiculousness. I would like to be able to sit in on any meetings you may have, but I will not be treated as one of your disciples, and I reserve the right to punish any of your followers if they provoke me."

"And you would consider what as provoking you?" He raised an eyebrow. Harry merely smiled, a bit amused at Voldemort's change of view on his character and what he was capable of. Voldemort sighed but wrote down the last of the demands. "I have one more condition." The Dark Lord announced. Harry looked at him expectantly. "You are obviously much more advanced with magic that many seem to think," he looked pained at that admittance, "So, I wish for you to allow me access to any of your inventions, creations or ideas you may have."

"Why do you assume I have created anything more?"

Voldemort scoffed, "You have managed to improve upon an already incredibly difficult piece of magic, at the age of fifteen no less. You can't expect me to believe that you have not thought of anything else." He said incredulously.

Harry laughed, delighted, "I guess you've caught me." He sighed in mock disappointment, "Fine. You have your agreement. Where do I sign?"

Voldemort was triumphant, but obviously did not show it. He finished writing everything down on the parchment and moved to take something out of one of the drawers in his desk. "I have written a line for each of our conditions. If we both sign under a single condition, that condition will come into effect. This way, we will be able to add new clauses if we so desire it. Is that acceptable?" He asked. Harry hummed, his eyes gleaming. "Very well. For the contract to be valid, it must be signed with a blood quill. You do know what that is, don't you?"

Harry scoffed lightly, "Honestly. Who do you take me for?" He stood up and sauntered over to the desk. Sitting down lightly on the edge, he faced the Dark Lord and raised an eyebrow. "Well? Are you going to sign it?"

Voldemort hesitated for a split second, wondering if he really knew what he was getting himself into. The boy in front of him was nothing like he expected. He was intelligent and obviously held none morals or restraint that he had previously portrayed. Hell, he didn't even look the same. Oh, he could see the resemblance, with the short stature, brilliant green eyes and raven black hair. But there was also such a blatantly obvious difference to what he looked like now and what he looked like before, that he wouldn't have recognised him if it weren't for the scar.

He suddenly wondered why he hadn't questioned Harry's drastic change in appearance before, and cursed himself for glancing over something so important. He had allowed his emotions of hate, rage and dare he say it, lust, to cloud his perception. The boy affected him much too easily.

Nevertheless, this chance was much too good to pass up. He grabbed the blood quill ignoring the eyes following his movements, analysing his every action, eyes which had seen the hesitation and knew exactly why he had done it. Eyes that laughed silently.

He signed his name with a flourish, under each condition, and when he was done he silently handed the quill over to Harry who picked it up.

While Voldemort had been signing, Harry's eyes had been scanning over the script to check for any loopholes that Voldemort might have conveniently left for himself. When he found none, he was amused. The big, bad Dark Lord had trusted him enough to not create a way out for himself if things turned south. What a charming display.

When the quill was handed to him, he picked it up and turned the parchment around to face face him so he could sign. As he signed next to Voldemort's name, he felt a bond snapping into place and he smiled mischievously. When he had finished signing the document, he placed the quill down and stood up, walking back to his chair all to aware of the eyes trained on his backside. He sat down and faced Voldemort expectantly.

"So? Anything else to cover?" Harry asked.

Voldemort blinked a bit dazed, until he snapped back into focus. "Right, Yes!" He said, a bit too loudly. "I was wondering how exactly it is, that you are able to have a completely different appearance than before. Especially, since you are not wearing any glamours, that I can see, and I know how to spot glamours."

"Finally caught onto that then, have you dear?" Harry asked patronisingly, smiling as Voldemort's face contorted into what could only be considered a pout. He continued to speak before the annoyed Dark Lord could interrupt, "Well the reason you can't see any glamours is because I'm not wearing any. My appearance is different because I am a metamorphmagus."

"What!" Voldemort all but shouted, only remembering to keep his composure at the last moment. "How is that even possible. Only one of Black blood is able to procure that power and even then, it had all but died out." He was incredibly sceptical and his ire was only being increased with how calm the boy was.

"I am am of black blood, actually. And _really_ Voldemort, there is another metamorphmagus alive right now, so it's obviously not all died out." He said condescendingly.

"How is this true?"

Harry smiled. "My grandmother, Dorea Potter, was actually really Dorea Potter nee Black." Voldemort's eyes widened as he remembered. Orion Black had been a seventh year when he had been a first, Cygnus Black was a fourth year and Dorea was in his class. He had a vague memory of her disownment in seventh year, for running off with Charlus Potter, breaking the betrothal her parents had set. They were disgusted with her choosing such a prominent light family.

Harry's smile widened, "I see that this is familiar to you. Anyway, She birthed my father, and a few years before that, Cygnus's first child, Andromeda Black, was born, now named Andromeda Tonks, who was promptly disowned after running off with a muggleborn." Voldemort nodded in recollection. "Now can you see one prominent thing in common between James Potter and Andromeda Tonks, besides their blood?" He questioned.

Harry was positively gleeful at the dawning horror and understanding in Voldemort's eyes. "That is preposterous. You cannot possibly be insinuating that marrying a mudblood could reawaken the dormant metamorphmagus gene." He said incredulously, unable to believe it.

Harry frowned, "No, that was _definitely_ what I was insinuating." He looked at Voldemort as if he were short a few brain cells. "It is true though, or at least, it's the best theory I have. A gene that has been dormant for centuries, and suddenly in the span of a decade, it has awoken in two children, who incidentally, both have a muggleborn parents, something that has never occurred in the Black line. Furthermore, I have read many of the Black journals, dating back to when every member of the family had the ability to metamorph and the ability only started going dormant when too much interbreeding occurred." Harry finished speaking, looking entirely confident in his conclusion. Voldemort was practically gaping.

He knew that the idea had it's merits. Even he knew that incest can easily lead to problems with genes. However, he refused to believe that the mudbloods were able to contribute to society in such a way. Then something dawned on him.

"Where did you get access to the ancient Black journals?" He asked eagerly and confused. The Blacks were one of the oldest familys existing today and those journals were sure to hold a wealth of knowledge on long forgotten spells and magics.

"In the Black Vault." He said simply, not bothering to elaborate.

"How do you have access to the Black vault?" As far as he knew, Draco Malfoy would inherit when he came of age, since Sirius Black was a wanted criminal and Regulus was dead.

"Ah, yes, that." He said casually. "Originally Draco and I _both_ had the same claim to the title. However as Sirius Black, the original heir, is my godfather, the title is most rightly mine over Draco's. After being put into the Triwizard Tournament as an adult, I was able to become officially emancipated, and access all of the vaults I could lay claim to. So I guess it's all thanks to you, really."

Voldemort nodded in understanding. "That is all the questions I have for now then," deciding that he had had enough shocking revelations for one night, "Do you have anything you wish to discuss?" Harry shook his head silently, smiling serenely. "Very well. Mopsy!" A house-elf appeared before them already grovelling on the ground.

"How can Mopsy be helping The Great Dark Lord, sir." She, Harry assumed it was a she, grovelled.

The Dark Lord sneered, "I need you to lead Lord Potter-Black here to the guest suite in the west wing." Mopsy's eyes widened at the clear respect in his tone, something she had never heard before.

"Yes, Sir. Mopseys be doing that for you right now sir." She said quivering.

Harry stood from his chair, but instead of walking towards the elf, he approached the Dark Lord. When he was close enough that Voldemort could feel the warm puffs of breath hitting his face, Harry stilled. "Goodnight, Darling." His head tilting to meet Voldemorts eyes, smiling lechariously.

Voldemort's breath caught, "Goodnight, Harry." He said softly, actually quite proud of himself for being able to speak without stuttering.

Harry's mouth tilted into a frown and his eyes became distant. "No, no, that won't do." He shook his head contemplatively.

"What won't do?"

"Harry. I prefer not to be called that, that's the name of _The-Boy-Who-Lived_ , not me." He said thoughtfully.

"Then what shall I call you?"He asked, confused.

The boy hummed. "I think I quite like the name Hadrian. Yes, you may call me Hadrian."

" _Hadrian_." Voldemort liked the way it rolled off his tongue, "Then I must insist that you call me Marvolo." Hadrian smiled up at him, a peculiar gleam in his eyes that he was unable identify, but made him both uneasy and excited.

" _Marvolo_." The Dark Lord shivered, aroused at the low purr. "I like that. Very well Marvolo, Goodnight."

"Goodnight."

Hadrian stepped forward, closer than before and lifted himself onto his toes. Voldemorts eyes widened at the close proximity. The boys dark red lips brushed lightly over his cheek, before the boy stepped away and turned towards the shocked elf. Leaving behind a gaping Dark Lord.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, sorry that this chapter is so late. At first it was because I disliked writing on my phone, but when I got access to a laptop, I reverted back to being a lazy SOB, until I finally persuaded myself to stop procrastinating and actually do something. I hope you liked it, feel free to review. Constructive criticism is welcome.
> 
> The original plot line and characters of the Harry potter series are all property of the author J.K Rowling and in no way mine.


End file.
